


Playing Normal

by Ranowa



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Roy Mustang, Asexuality, Gen, Homophobia, Ishval Civil War, Pre-Series, Racism, Rape/Non-con Elements, the non-con and the underage are two separate events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 08:56:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12251136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranowa/pseuds/Ranowa
Summary: Roy walked in on his roommate jerking himself off under the sheets more than once, stumbling back in from the library at half past two. And Maes always looked so awkward and embarrassed afterward, the poor guy, Roy actually let the goof walk in on him once, just so he’d feel better.It was the first time he’d touched himself like that since he was eleven, and it didn’t make any more sense to him at nineteen.(Or, a character study, on an asexual Roy Mustang.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve wanted to do something like this for a while, partly ever since I discovered my own sexuality, and partly since the idea of an asexual Roy is just fascinating. Little AU since the term asexuality wouldn’t have been a thing in the early 1900s, and I imagine most asexuals back then just sucked it up and got married like they were supposed to, but I think we can suspend historical accuracy for a bit :)
> 
> Also, like I say in the tags, the non-con and the underage are two separate things. There is underage sex here (not explicit), but the non-con (also not explicit) is between adults.

Roy was seven when he first got the sex talk, and it was a very unorthodox one at that.

He’d been wandering through the second floor of his aunt’s bar, looking for something to play with when he’d come across a hallway he hadn’t been to before. Curious, on the hunt for any sort of distraction, he’d turned down it, and picked a door at random.

It would take many years for him to finally realize that what he’d walked in was Yinq, one of his sisters, servicing a customer.

It had been a whole bunch of chaos after that, which Roy remembered not understanding at the time; his sister flaming red, slamming the door in his face, screaming for his aunt. The strange man now furious and being ushered out with a wad of cash in hand, his aunt dragging him off by the ear and laying into him- _I TOLD you not to go in any rooms in that hall, Roy!-_

He was sat down at the bar, his aunt lifting him up off the ground to settle him on one of the stools, a thoroughly embarrassed and still blushing Yinq by her side. What followed was Madam Christmas giving possibly the most unbelievable sex talk in Amestrian history, and a story Roy grew to love to recount whenever he needed something to boost up his Casanova reputation.

“Boys like to stick their penises in girl’s vaginas, Roy-boy. Or their mouths, or- near anywhere else they can find. That’s what you saw. It’s perfectly natural, and you’ll want to, too, some day. Until then: _stay out of the dammed hall with the red carpet.”_

Roy swung his legs, looking from his sister to his aunt. “...Okay.” He bit his lip. He didn’t really know what a vagina was, but he did know what a mouth was, and that was where the man had been sticking his thing in his sister. “Do girls like it, too?”

Christmas smirked. “Yes. Girls like it, too.” Then she glared at him, pulling on the back of his hair the way she did whenever she wanted to teach him something was wrong. “At least they had _better_ like it, and if they don’t, you’ll stop what you’re doing that instant, you understand me?”

He blinked, startled. “Y-yes, ma’am.” He still didn’t really get it- couldn’t imagine why he would ever _want_ to do any of this- but it was all getting to be intensely uncomfortable and really he just wanted to forget about the whole thing. “Can I go play now?”

Christmas and Yinq gave each other a look, then twin sighs. His aunt looked back to him, sternness dissolving into a fond grin, and he got a pat on the head before being turned around on the bar stool. “Go on, Roy.”

Relieved, Roy hopped to the ground and wasted no time in running off, already turning his mind towards his room and any amusements he could find in there. He climbed the stairs to the tune of his aunt yelling, “Just stay out of that hallway!”, but already, the red-carpeted hallway was gone from his mind.

* * *

There got to be new rules, after that. He was to stay in his room after nine, though his aunt or one of his sisters would always be along to check on him so he never got bored. He was never to go down to the bar after eight, and _never_ to go down that red-carpeted hallway, no matter the time. Roy let the rules pass without complaint, at first... but he could only be left alone in his room for so many nights before the loud laughter and music from downstairs called to him, and he started to sneak back down to the bar to watch.

He did stay out of the red-carpeted hallway, though. He had no interest in seeing _that_ again.

It was difficult, he quickly found out. It wasn’t just his aunt and his sisters he had to hide from, but the men as well- and it was always men that were customers, never women. While his sisters would frown and shepherd him back upstairs, and his aunt would glare and making a little _shooing_ motion with her hand, the men would _freak._ They’d yank away from their friends and his sisters and stare and finger point, and then he never made it away before his sisters found him.

It took him a little while, to learn how to hide under the stairs or in the shadows, just watching for a few minutes before he’d scamper back up. He never really got what the big deal about it was. It was all adults, doing what he could only imagine were adult things, since no kid he knew did them. His sisters sitting on the men’s laps, arms around them, toying their fingers around their mouths, smiling and giggling sweetly, eyelashes fluttering, painted lips puckering. The men were always older, hanging on to his sisters possessively, and Roy quickly decided he didn’t like them.

A couple times, he saw what his aunt had gotten so mad at him about- when the boy was having fun but the girl wasn’t. Usually a hushed words argument would escalate into hair pulling or wrist grabbing, his sister giggling quietly but with a hint of steel _Don’t touch me like that, this isn’t that kind of place~_ then sometimes louder, with fire, _Don’t touch me like that again!_

If the man didn’t get the hint after that point, Christmas would appear... and it was only when he saw her truly angry that he understood he had never seen her actually mad at him before.

There was one occasion- just one that he remembered, anyway; as an adult he’d realize there had to have surely been more- where Christmas didn’t intervene in time.

He came downstairs in the very early morning, rubbing his eyes and only wanting a glass of water when he heard voices. He ignored them at first- his only wish to just hurry back to bed- but stopped, when he realized one of them was crying.

His youngest sister, Mei, sat on one of the couches, a blanket clutched around her shoulders that did little to hide her ripped dress and her makeup smeared from crying. Two of his other sisters were by her side, fire in their eyes, but Mei wouldn’t look at them and just kept shaking her head, rubbing a hand across her cheek whenever she started to cry again. Christmas was across the room from them, near the stairs but with her back to them all, conversing quietly on the phone. Roy caught a mutter of, “...I want this taken care of. Tonight. Never show his face in mine or anyone else’s again...” before he tiptoed past, inching closer to his sisters to try and find out what was wrong.

“...so _normal,”_ Mei was whispering, voice cracked. “He was just like a usual customer before we got upstairs... I- I got a bad vibe from him at first but- but I thought that was silly, nothing was wrong with him, h-he- he was j-just-“

“Oh, sweetie,” Linq sighed, touching a hand to her shoulder. “We told you. We told you, you have to trust your instincts. If something feels bad- _run._ ”

“I’m s-sorry...”

His next step took him over a creaky floorboard, and all three of his sisters spun around. He jumped, eyes wide, and found himself staring as Mei, with red, wet eyes and messy hair and a runny nose, was pulled closer, almost protectively, to Linq’s side, and Ty-lee frowned at him. “Roy-boy, what are you doing up?”

He swallowed, staring nervously between the three of them. “I... was thirsty...” He hesitated, swallowing again; was unable to help himself from looking at Mei. “...Are you okay?”

Linq and Ty-lee glanced darkly to each other; Mei just sniffed and averted her eyes, clutching her blanket even tighter. “Go on back to your room for now, Roy,” Linq said at last, her voice quiet and subdued- but Mei sniffed again and Roy just knew he couldn’t walk away. He was eight years old. He was a big boy now. If someone was mean to his sisters- he couldn’t let that happen.

And he _really_ couldn’t let his sisters cry.

Roy slipped forward, something in his chest tight and aching and sad, hopped up on the couch, and hugged her.

It did take several moments... but, Mei, at last, hugged him back.

He glanced nervously up at her, hoping he hadn’t done the wrong thing, but was greeted by a watery smile as she pulled him even closer to her side, one hand ruffling his hair. “You’re a good kid, Roy,” she said quietly, her voice weak, and he hugged her tighter even as he found his face getting pushed into her lap, and Linq and Ty-lee returning to sit on either side of them.

* * *

Roy was seven when he got the sex talk, eight when he saw that sex did not always mean pleasure, and about to turn eleven when his aunt again took him aside for yet another talk.

This time, it was about changes.

How his body would probably start changing soon, that he was going to start getting interested in girls, that he might start having strange dreams or wanting to touch himself. These things were all natural, she told him, and as long as no one got hurt then there was nothing wrong with anything that he did. Any questions he had, he could direct to her- _because whatever you’ve got, BELIEVE ME, boy, I’ve seen-_ or if he felt weird about it, there was always her old friend Dr. Knox, but he shouldn’t feel weird, because he was a growing boy and all this was natural. That was something she’d stressed a lot; this was all perfectly normal and natural for a boy his age, and something everybody went through, so he had no reason to ever be embarrassed about any of it- because it was all just normal.

It had been the most horrifically embarrassing moment of his eleven year old life, and the very moment Christmas had let him go, Roy had ran up to his room, buried his flaming face under the pillow, and not come out until the next day.

His body did start changing, soon enough. He grew taller, _finally,_ started getting hair on places other than his head, his voice dropping lower. All the physical changes his aunt had told him about happened, right on schedule.

And... that was it.

Some of his friends at school- not all, but some- suddenly started looking at girls like Christmas had said they would. Suddenly girls weren’t weird and strange and _ick_ any longer, but something exotic and desirable.

Roy never got it.

Sure, he liked girls. They were nice. There was even one, Anna, that all his newly interested friends suddenly took a liking to that he could evaluate as cute. But that was all. He didn’t see what all the fuss was about, and couldn’t for the life of him understand when two of his friends got into a _fist fight_ over who was going to get to hold her hand the next day.

His aunt and sisters, actually, took far more an interest in Anna then he did. The moment they found out about her, he was instantly embroiled in lessons, his whole family gleefully instructing in everything from what to say to how to walk to _dancing-_ he learned the moves from the best of them, as they said. And they were all _thrilled,_ prouder of him than they’d ever been in his life, when he came home one day to announce that Anna West was his girlfriend.

He decided that girlfriends were nice. He always had someone to walk to class or eat lunch with if he couldn’t find his friends, though it got a bit old, after a while. It started to become a game for him; how many of his sister’s lessons could he trout out in a day without managing to mess up and do something embarrassing.

After school one day, sitting alone while they waited for her parents to show up- he’d promised to keep her company- Anna had started scooting closer. She’d bit her lip, swung her legs, and blushed. She’d leaned her face a little closer to his. She swung her legs again.

Roy Mustang, eleven year old expert, knew what it looked like when he was supposed to kiss someone. He’d seen his sisters and their customers interact often enough, after all.

So, he did what he was supposed to do: he leaned forward and kissed her.

Her mouth tasted like cherry chapstick and raspberry gum. It was clumsy, their teeth knocking together, and all together not very fun. He _did not_ see what all the fuss was about.

But Roy still kissed her, because that was what he was supposed to do, and he knew the next step, too- what all those men always did next. He leaned a little closer and slipped a hand awkwardly up the back of her shirt. He felt Anna stiffen, but guessed it was because he didn’t really know what he was doing as he felt around, awkwardly patting on her back to feel around for the next step.

Anna pulled back, her eyes wide, her face equal parts stunned and confused. “...What are you doing?”

Roy frowned. He patted around again. “You’re not wearing a bra.”

Anna’s flush turned even more brilliantly red.

“W-w-w-what’s that- what’s that s-supposed to mean?!”

He stared vacantly, lost and more than a little thrown by the reaction, even more so when she yanked away, crossing her arms violently high over her chest and staring wildly at him like he’d just said something deeply offensive. “I’m supposed to take it off,” he explained, confused. Wasn’t he? “Why aren’t you wearing one?”

Anna gaped.

Then she slapped him, burst into tears, and left him sitting there on the bench, holding his cheek and gobsmacked as she ran away.

She didn’t even look at him for a week after that.

* * *

It was more than a curiosity than an actual desire that he picked up his next girlfriend, wanting to see if it was just that Anna was strange or if _he_ was messing up somehow. He knew he could just ask his family, but... well, no way was he telling them he’d made a girl cry.

He pushed things along a bit faster this time, using his newfound experience and all the smooth talking he’d seen his sisters utilize to such success. This time, it took barely a week to kiss her. This time, he did find a bra strap to undo after all (though just _how_ he was supposed to manage the task was beyond him).

He got slapped again for his trouble, and left another girl in tears.

He still didn’t get it.

* * *

He never got the dreams his aunt had told him about either, and never once felt any desire to touch himself.

* * *

“Aunt Chris?” he asked one day, head pillowed in his arms at the bar as he watched her clean glasses.

She didn’t turn around, focused on her task, but he knew she was listening. “Roy-boy?”

He hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I’m... supposed to... like girls. Like... I’m supposed to- actually want to kiss them, and stuff, and it’s supposed to be- fun. ...Right?”

His aunt paused. She went on washing the glasses in silence for several moments, back to him, but the lack of an answer was enough to tell him how strange and unexpected the question was. He glanced nervously down at the bar top, staring at the wood grains.

At last, she turned around, and though she still held a glass and damp cloth in her hands, all her attention was on him. “Yes,” she said. “Are you saying you don’t?”

“I...” He gulped.

Maybe he was right. Maybe something was wrong with him; maybe he was sick, and there’d be some sort of funny vitamin or pill Dr. Knox could give him to make him feel the right things and be normal. He couldn’t really guess _why_ feeling those things was so important, but- _everyone_ did. If everyone else did, and he didn’t- something had to be wrong with him.

Didn’t it?

Chris, however, didn’t look at him like she was worried, or she was sick; one moment she was just staring, and the next she was suddenly smiling at him, her eyes twinkling as she set the glass down. “Ah, Roy-boy? Actually...? You know, I didn’t tell you this before, I didn’t realize- I’m sorry; normally, with men, I can tell. But, the truth is?” She leaned a little closer, getting closer to his level and lowering her voice, eyes bright like she was about to impart a great secret “Not all boys like girls.”

He perked up, eyes widening. “Wait- wait, really?!” He started to smile, a relieved kind of hope beating in his chest. So it _was_ normal? So it wasn’t just him?

Chris nodded again. “Yes. Sometimes, boys like boys instead of girls.”

The hopeful smile fell.

“And,” she went on, “lots of people will probably tell you otherwise, but, that’s really okay. As long as everyone involved wants to be there, then there’s nothing wrong with it. Being gay isn’t-“

“I don’t like _boys,_ Aunt Chris!” he cried, shocked. He hugged himself, shuddering violently, then blinked wide at the mental images. “I don’t- how... how would that even _work?_ Where are you supposed to- to stick it?! To- _what?!”_

She stared at him for several moments, blinking in surprise, then suddenly raised a hand, waving as if to get him to back up. “Wait, wait. I thought you said you weren’t attracted to girls. You’re not attracted to boys, either?”

This was... not at all how he’d wanted this conversation to go.

Roy stared very hard down at the bar top, watching his fingers trace lines in the wood, and found himself wishing he’d never brought up the stupid topic at all.

“Oh- oh, don’t be silly, Roy,” his aunt told him, and he blinked as her hand came down on her head, ruffling his hair into a mess. “You’re attracted to one or the other- or maybe both. You’re just young; sometimes it takes a little while to figure it out.” She ruffled his hair again, and he raised his eyes just in time to catch her smiling down at him. “Everybody’s attracted to somebody.”

He swallowed, keeping his unease off his face, and forced himself into a reassuring nod.

_But I’m not, Aunt Chris._

* * *

He followed his aunt’s advice, and decided he’d just get it when he got older.

He didn’t.

All his other friends eventually _did,_ finding their interest in girls just like everybody else, and still, Roy did not. He just continued to fake it, for the sake of what was easiest; part of him assumed they were all faking it as well. After all, this was what adult men did, right? They liked girls. That was what his aunt said; he’d understand when he got older. And sure, there was a certain allure into acting adult. He could get into it, and was better at it than any of them.

But then, sometimes the conversations would turn to awkward, embarrassing sort of one-up attempts, male bonding and bragging; Roy now knew just how many times each one of his friends could jerk off in one sitting, and had invented a number for himself, as well, just because he didn’t think _I’ve never tried it_ would go over well in _that_ weird conversation. He never got the appeal, but the conversations just kept happening, and his aunt kept hinting that it was okay for him to do, and eventually he just decided that it was a hurdle he had to get over. Maybe once he’d done it, he’d understand.

That night, he locked his door, sat up on his bed, and pushed his underwear off. He stared down at it. Then he looked at the door, as if instructions might suddenly burst out of it and present themselves to him. He looked back down at it.

Why did everyone talk about this like it was natural? How did they all know what they were supposed to _do?_

In the end, it took a little experimentation, but it wasn’t hard to figure it out. He touched it the same way his sisters worked with their customers. It was a little difficult, and took him a few nights, but eventually he did manage bring himself to orgasm- body trembling, pulsing waves that beat through his lower half, a warmth inside him- all that jazz.

All things told, it was nice. It was a pleasurable experience.

It was also messy. He still didn’t really see the point.

It was pleasurable, just like the sticky buns or sweet rice at the Xing takeout place were pleasurable. Something to enjoy? Yes. Something to get worked up over? No.

What was the big _deal?_

What was he _missing?_

* * *

At twelve years old, Roy finally thought he’d figured it out.

It was also the age he lost his virginity, and that was no coincidence.

Maybe he’d get it when it was with someone else. Maybe having seen his sisters do it to men so many times had made it lose its novel appeal- maybe he had to have a girl do it to him. Maybe _that_ was the big deal. Maybe _that_ was what everyone was so excited about. His friends talked about it like the ultimate goal after all; some of them even claimed to have done it already- but, by how red their faces got when they proclaimed _oh yeah, I’ve done_ ** _it,_** Roy had his doubts.

Girls his age still didn’t react well to anything beyond kissing, however, so Roy turned his sights higher: one of the new girls in his aunt’s employ, not one of his sisters but sixteen year old Alex, with pretty blonde hair and bright green eyes. Roy came on to her like she was his greatest conquest, using every move his sisters had taught him and even those he’d learned on his own, doing everything he could to woo her over.

Except, she never seemed that interested in him.

The lines that made girls his age blush made her coo and ruffle his hair, kiss his forehead and say _awww, how sweet._ He persisted, though. And Alex did finally tend to just let him kiss her, but it seemed like a more resigned and exasperated effort than anything else, as if she was just tired of telling him no, and she’d still frown and push him away whenever he tried anything beyond that. She kept telling him it was just a crush, because she was older and pretty, that he’d get over it and regret it. But he pursued her still; three long months it took, three long months of learning how to kiss and fondle and talk to older women- until finally, he won the prize.

It _was_ better with a woman. Infinitely better.

He still thought, lying there sweaty and exhausted after, frowning in confusion as Alex dressed and apologized and shook like they’d done something wrong, that it wasn’t worth all the fuss.

Just like the Xingese takeout place- enjoyable in the moment, perhaps, but hardly something worth going out of his way to pursue. And most definitely not worth the three months of scheming and hard work this had taken him.

Alex was gone not even a week after that, and his next talk from his aunt was a somber and solemn one: how to say no, how to fight back, and that if someone ever touched him somewhere he didn’t like or that made him uncomfortable, he was to tell her immediately.

He didn’t know how to tell her that it wasn’t Alex that had pressured him into anything, but instead the other way around.

He didn’t know how to tell her he still didn’t get it.

* * *

At thirteen, Roy’s world was turned upside down.

He went to live out west with the Hawkeyes, with many tearful hugs from his sisters and a stern but sniffling threat from his aunt that he had better write and come home for every holiday. His first time meeting Berthold Hawkeye and entering his home, terrified and nearly too nervous to speak, he quickly met a young girl, much younger than him and with bright yellow hair that reminded him of Alex.

“H-hi,” he stammered shakily, clutching his bag to his chest. He held out a trembling hand. “R-Roy Mustang.”

The girl frowned at him.

“You won’t last a week here shakin’ like that,” she informed him sharply, cutting his legs out from under him just like that, harsh voice lilting through a country accent he’d only before heard on the radio, then turned her back and left him standing there on the porch, hand still outstretched.

Behind him, Berthold Hawkeye laughed.

“That’s my girl,” he said warmly, and prodded a stunned Roy forward into the house.

“That’s Riza,” Mr. Hawkeye told him, once inside and now facing him, smiling in a terrifying way down at him. The expression that radiated _danger._ “My daughter. She’s eight, and as you can see, if you even think of trying anything, you won’t get far. ...However. If, for some reason, that is not enough of a threat, and you do think to try something?” His cold smile broadened, eyes glinting this time in an expression that warned _stay away._ “Your aunt won’t enough of you back to bury.”

It was the first time, Roy felt, he wasn’t being told to chase after women, and he was incredibly relieved for it.

He was also now terrified of the Hawkeyes, but that was neither here nor there.

* * *

The time he spent studying alchemy was some of the best of his life. It was the hardest he’d ever had to work, but the first time he’d ever felt committed and challenged, like his life finally had a direction and he was succeeding and accomplishing and _knew_ what he was doing. Riza, as hard as it was to win her over, finally became his best friend, and Roy would later look back on those years as the last time he was truly happy in his life for a very long time.

Women and sex, now that he no longer felt as if they were being foisted upon him, became a distant memory of a nuisance, something associated with Central and not at all relevant for his present or his future. The only time the subject was even brought up was his third month into his apprenticeship, Roy sitting on the floor surrounded by books while his master, previously working at his desk, swiveled around to face him, eyes stern.

“You know, Roy, you’re allowed to date.”

He blinked, head jerking up from a text on the basics of transformation. “Huh?”

Mr. Hawkeye shrugged a little, fingers interlaced. “I told you you can’t try anything with Riza, but I’m not a fool. I was a thirteen year old boy, too, once; I understand if you want to date some of the other girls out here. You’re allowed.”

Roy stared at him blankly. God, not him, too. Was even _Mr. Hawkeye_ going to start on this now? Was it really something _everyone_ was so obsessed with? “...Am I allowed to not date, either, then?”

Mr. Hawkeye let out a startled little laugh. “Well- yes, of course. If you don’t want to. I’m only saying, it’s a little odd, how little interest you’ve shown. You’re only friends with Riza, and I was suspicious at first, but I’ve never seen you even start to attempt something untoward. It’s strange.”

Strange. Right.

“...Can I go back to studying now, sir?”

His alchemy master watched him a moment longer, eyes narrowed uncertainly, then finally waved him on back to his book- and that was the last he’d heard of the subject.

It was the first time Roy had ever truly gotten confirmation that he wasn’t normal.

* * *

If the time he spent studying alchemy under the Hawkeye’s roof was the best of his life, then the four years he spent in the military academy were some of the worst.

He was good at the schoolwork, top of his class, and got in shape just as quickly as the rest of them. But, as if the universe had sensed the unequal balance in his life and was now trying to correct it, he found himself thrust into such a sex-crazed environment it was agonizing. That was all the other cadets ever seemed to want to do while on furlough... drink, and have sex.

The drinking, Roy could get behind. That was another topic of his education his aunt had claimed, and just because Master Hawkeye had strictly forbidden it didn’t mean he’d forgotten how it was done. The drinking was fun, and when he’d had enough, he found himself fitting in with his peers for the first time in his life.

But the _sex._

This wasn’t middle school anymore, a blushing group of boys all trying to claim they’d had an older woman but giggling at even the word sex. This was a group of adult men who bragged about their conquests like they were battles in a war. This was a group of men in a hyper-masculine environment where sex wasn’t even just about sex; it was social standing, it was part of what made the king of the pack the king, it was what made men, men. And, god, was there ever just a point where it was _enough?_ Every other weekend, the ones with girlfriends left with the promise of getting some and the ones without would charge off to the bars, chanting drunkenly to the tune of a sweaty night of getting laid. It got to the point that Roy didn’t even want to go out with them at all, begging off and claiming he had to study for his alchemy exams- but then he started losing friends, people driven off, thinking he was a recluse or a hermit and starting to mutter behind his back, and he’d just caved.

Being raised in a brothel still had its benefits, since he was still the most successful of them all, and more than once he reflected on the irony that the one who cared least about the title was the one who held it.

His roommate his first year, Maes Hughes, an upperclassman and a gigantic goof, wasn’t in the same crowds that Roy stuck with- but always seemed to have a story about his girlfriend at the ready. These, at least, rarely detailed his sexual exploits- Roy was beginning to suspect the cadets who told those stories were the biggest liars out of all of them- and for the first time, he began to get what relationships might be all about. Maes, always bugging him awake until three in the morning, slowly began to paint a picture of companionship to him, a best friend that was always available and- sometimes, yes, had sex with- but it wasn’t as irritating an annoyance to him as it had been. For the first time, he started to make sense of it.

Not enough to try it himself, but he finally figured that, maybe, for once in his life, he’d some day finally get what the _fucking_ big deal out of it all was.

Living together with a twenty year old man in such close quarters made certain accidents unavoidable, evidently- Roy walked in on Maes jerking himself off under the sheets more than once, stumbling back in from the library at half past two. And Maes always looked so awkward and embarrassed afterward, the poor guy, Roy actually let the goof walk in on him once, just so he’d feel better.

It was the first time he’d touched himself like that since he was eleven, and it didn’t make any more sense to him at nineteen.

* * *

Second year the academy was a little better than the first; friend groups had been settled, and every weekend leave they got was not immediately dominated by an aggressive, testosterone-fueled stampede to the bars. Roy had his friend group, even if he was still a bit of an outsider- the alchemists always were, and he was the strange, foreign alchemist, at that. He was just lucky he’d found a group of friends willing to let him tag along at all; cadets without friends turned into officers without connections turned into soldiers with a career dead in the water. He roomed with Maes again, because the upperclassman, for some reason, seemed to have taken a liking to him, and decided that living with a giant dork and insufferable goof wasn’t so bad after all.

Roy still found himself working a little harder than the rest of his classmates, always hurrying off to extra alchemy classes or staying up later to study for exams they didn’t have. It was worth it, though, he knew in the end it would be, no matter how much harder it was now. That was the mantra he had to keep repeating to himself- even now, as he sat there at lunch, eyes slipping shut as he frantically read over his notes on elemental alchemic history, one hand shoveling in his lunch while the other trailed down the page, as if touching the words would make them stick in his head faster.

Only one ear and a fraction of his head space was committed towards following his friends’ conversation, and from what snippets he picked up on, it wasn’t even worth that much.

“I always have a cigarette after. My Susan doesn’t like the taste- but it’s what us real men have to do, isn’t it?”

“And risk getting ash on my sheets? No way, man. A massage is the way to go.”

“Come off it, how you ever convince a woman to massage you afterwards?!”

“Hey- one of Amestris’ finest. I deserve the finest treatment, don’t I?”

“God, you’re such a dick. Roy, what about you?”

Roy winced, biting hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from swearing aloud. _1650, earth alchemy first explored by Henry Van-Louis Armstrong-_ “What?”

Fellow cadet Baldwin Schmidt grinned wolfishly at him over his plate, eyes bright. “What do you like to do after sex?”

For fuck’s sake, he was obviously studying. Why involve him in this conversation when he plainly had no interest in it? “Uh, tend to just get dressed and leave,” he muttered, shrugging, trying to radiate an aura of disinterest strong enough for them to leave him alone.

No such luck.

“Hey, come on!” another whined, leaning across the table. “No way, Roy! No way Mr. Sex God doesn’t have a post mating ritual, come on! Tell us!”

Post-mating? God, what were they, a pack of wolves? “I-“ _am clearly BUSY, so if you don’t mind..._

“Roy~”

He wasn’t really sure what about that particular conversation ticked him off so much.He’d pretended his way through many just like it over the years. Perhaps it was the late night and no sleep, and the stress that came from that being such a common state for him nowadays; perhaps it was that his head was full to bursting with alchemic history and that had pushed out all his common sense. Perhaps it was just he was tired of lying, and wanted to come out and say once and for all _no, I’ve never felt anything that you’re talking about. Care to clue a guy in?_

Whatever it was, Roy sat back in his seat, looked steadily around at all his eager friends- and told the truth.

“No, I really don’t do anything special. I just get dressed and leave. Honestly, if you ask me? I don’t see what the big deal even is. Everyone gets so excited, and sure, I guess it’s fun, but then it’s over. Women really aren’t enjoyable for me.”

A dead silence fell over his friends.

They all stared blankly at him, some of them even with forks frozen halfway to mouths. One hesitantly lowered his bite back down to his plate, still staring at him, wide-eyed. Roy, stopped just as he was about to turn back to his alchemy notes, hesitated. “...What?”

It was Schmidt who finally broke the silence, voice a little bit nervous like he thought it all was a joke. “What, and next you’re going to tell us you’re a fag, right?” He laughed, and everyone around the table laughed with him- and Roy, for some reason, did not make himself act as he had his entire life and join in, pretending it was all just a joke.

“I’m serious.” He laid his hands flat on his alchemy text, frowning at them all. “What’s the big deal about women? You’re actually telling me you all find them fun?”

The laughter died away uncomfortably, but Roy persisted through the uneasy silence, looking around at them all. He met Schmidt’s eyes steadily, holding his gaze, demanding an explanation- and finally, it seemed to get through to the cadet that he wasn’t joking.

His grin from before was long gone now, and the look in his eyes was anything but friendly.

“...So... you _are_ a queer, aren’t you then, Mustang? A fucking _queer.”_

Roy glared at him. “All I said was-“

“You said you don’t like women. That means you like men.”

Roy glared harder at him, fist clenching against the pages of his book. The second time, now, the second time he’d tried to just come right out and say he didn’t like women- and the second time that had instantly turned around into an accusation of being gay. Why was this such a hard thing for people to fucking get?! “I never said I didn’t _like_ women, I just-“

“You’re a god damn _fag!”_

It was too late. The damage was done.

* * *

It was little things, at first.

A shove on his way to class the next morning, his books ending up on the floor. Crowds of cadets separating as he got new, inching away from him like he carried the plague. Quiet mutters of _queer_ and _fag_ that joined the older ones of _squinty_ and _chink_ , just soft enough to not cause undue attention- and just loud enough, for him to know that he was intended to hear it.

Roy held his head up high, and ignored it.

He was more than this; petty shoving, puerile jeers, juvenile mocking. This didn’t matter to him. He was going to graduate from here, take the State Alchemy exam, and end up ranked over them _all._ This didn’t bother him. He’d never particularly liked his friends here, anyway- maybe this was a good thing in disguise; perhaps now, he’d finally have enough time to study, now that he wasn’t being dragged out to bars half against his will.

Besides, there were obviously worse things in the world than being mistaken for gay.

Obviously.

So he ignored the bullying, and went about his schedule with a renewed fervor. He knew Maes was starting to worry about him, but left it alone; for now his only goal was to put an end to his horrid second year and drag his way past the first half of his academy tenure. He learned how to shower in less than a minute, because the mocking in there was the worst, and he found the best, most secluded corners in the library to bury himself away in. It was almost nice- but _definitely_ bearable, when he reminded himself of his looming State Alchemy exam, and the promotion to major that would follow. Major. _Major._ And all these idiots would still be privates.

He’d make them salute him, kiss his ass- hell, maybe even wash his god damn state-issued fancy fucking car, until he was satisfied. He just had to make it through to graduation.

Three weeks after the rumors had started to spread, Roy, still busy taking his new conviction to heart, found himself out late one weekend, returning from mailing his latest correspondence with Riza. She was sixteen now, and had actually begun to mention boys in her latest letter- which part of him considered a dammed betrayal; Riza, his last hold out, the last one in his corner in all of this sex-crazed _nonsense_ , had now joined the rest of the them- but her rare interests, she spoke about in such a businesslike manner, in such a calculating way, he couldn’t held but not mind. Riza, bless her, was just as odd as him, even if not in quite the same way. She was still his best friend, and one of the people he thought of when reminding himself that the world was more than just this dammed academy.

Baldwin Schmidt, and the group he’d thought had been his friends, caught him just outside the academy’s gate.

There were seven of them. And though they’d clearly been drinking, that didn’t change the fact that there were seven of them, and one of him.

They used a metal pipe on him, and gagged him with his own scarf.

Because _queers like you like it like this, don’t you? Or do you just need a good ass fucking to scare you straight?_ and _at least maybe now you won’t get such a hard on looking at us in the showers, faggot._

Once the bleeding had stopped, he went home.

* * *

“Oh, there you are. I thought you were just going to mail a letter! Roy, my defense tactics exam is _tomorrow,_ I need a study partner to- ...Roy?”

Roy ignored Maes, and his studying, and his pictures, and his stories, and his irritating god dammed cheerfulness, and crawled into bed.

He heard Maes’ desk chair creak as his friend pushed himself half across the room, the quiet _whump_ as the book he’d been holding up collided back with his desk. “Hey, Roy, what’s up? You- ...jesus, you look like hell. What happened to you?!”

“Shut up, Maes,” he growled, and shut his eyes.

No matter how many times Maes tried to talk to him after that, he didn’t respond, and finally, the other man got the message, and left him alone.

* * *

He spent that weekend, and that weekend only, licking his wounds. He lied on his side, back to the room and Maes, and read his alchemy books in a blind fervor. He didn’t think about anything except alchemy, and he ignored the ever living hell out of Maes whenever the man tried to get him out of bed. He turned his mind off, buried himself in alchemy, and for that weekend only, crawled into the blackest hole in his head he could find and didn’t come out.

When Monday classes came, he got up as normal, dressed, and made himself set to face the day.

“Roy?” Maes asked him, just as he stepped towards the door.

Roy glared at the wood. “What?”

“...I don’t care if you’re gay, you know.”

Roy waited.

When nothing except an awkward and embarrassed cough followed it, he kept his features calm, and shrugged. “That’s nice,” he commented offhandedly, like Maes had just told him yet another story of his girlfriend of the month, and shoved out into the hallway.

* * *

Their next furlough, Roy planned everything.

He went to the bar with the prostitutes he knew the cadets in his class favored, and he timed everything out to the minute. When the shitheads arrived, it was just in time to see him stumbling out of a back room, the pretty- and expensive- blonde patting him by, limp dick half hanging out of his pants and with every sign of a man who’d just had the time of his life.

There was a new array sketched in his pants pocket, a bone-breaking, skin-scorching, horrific array that all he had to do was touch, if any single one of them thought he was helpless this time.

The cadets cat-called, but it was a sign of acceptance; if you were a queer, they didn’t even look at you. Cat-calling his conquest meant he was being accepted back into the folds. He knew it was a cowardly move, but between what had happened the week before, and pretending to be straight- he’d take pretending to be straight. He’d be a coward. He’d pretend he was normal.

After he’d left, he threw up in the alley behind the bar.

But before he’d left, stomach churning and mouth already tasting of bile, Roy made sure to thank Schmidt, for scaring him straight.

“You’re welcome, Squinty,” his fellow classmate said, and beamed.

He quietly recorded his name in his mind, and all the others.

Cadet Baldwin Schmidit.

He’d remember that name.

* * *

The next day, he went back to Christmas’ bar for the first time in months.

The first thing he did was track down Mei, and hug her.

“R-Roy-“ she started, surprised, but in her line of work, he figured nothing really surprised her, anymore, and sure enough, after a heartbeat, set down the glass she’d been cleaning and hugged him back. “I didn’t know you were coming to see us!”

When his hold did not loosen, her smile slowly faded.

“...What’s this for?” she asked quietly, dark eyes coloring with a hint of concern.

He swallowed. “Just cause,” he murmured, voice thick, and tucked her head under his chin.

* * *

He graduated from the academy.

He took his State Alchemy exam a week after.

A day after his official promotion to major came in, the order followed it:

State Alchemists were being shipped to Ishval.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!!

There were upsides, to Ishval.

He was a major, after all. He still had to take orders, but he could give them, too. Not that men who’d given a decade of their lives to the military were pleased to follow the instructions of a twenty-year old prodigy like him- but that was the thing about orders. It didn’t matter if you liked them. You just followed them.

He had his own tent. That was nice. Rooming with Maes, having a roommate at all, that had been good for it’s novelty, but four years of such close quarters, and he was more than ready to sleep on his own again. Even if on his own still meant dumping sand out of his boots and checking under his hard, lumpy pillow for tarantulas every night, and knowing the privacy was only because the rest of the men refused to bunk with the alchemists.

...

That was about it, for the upsides.

He stopped writing to Riza.

* * *

Maes barged into his tent one night, three months after landing out in this hellhole and two months after Roy had started dreaming of eating his gun. Maes was probably about the only person in the camp who could get away with doing that, superiors aside, and Roy was in no damn mood for company, but he still watched as the goofball paced around his tent like it was his own, muttering and ranting about the next day’s raid like he was about to have a nervous breakdown. Roy wanted to laugh at him, wanted to tell him if anyone got to have a nervous breakdown around here, it should be him- but a glimpse of the red ring on his finger kept him silent.

Maybe it was best if Maes had that breakdown in his stead after all.

Maes kept showing up like that, sometimes whenever he needed to rant, sometimes whenever Roy was shaking and on the edge and so close to losing it he could taste insanity. First it was days, and then it was weeks, and then it was _months my god we can’t have been out here for months that’s so long that’s hundreds of days we can’t have but it feels like an eternity since I’ve felt human-_

The night after Strongarm left, Maes showed up again.

He took one look at Roy, and calmly lifted the alchemist’s gun off the sand, and emptied the bullets into his palm.

“...You know,” Maes told him quietly, “that you don’t have a choice.”

The words tumbled out, spilling past whatever flimsy thoughts he’d had of keeping himself together like paper. “I do. I _do._ I- Armstrong c-can-“

“No. You don’t.” Maes gripped his shoulder hard, holding him there on the sand, holding him there as if stopping him from running right out the tent into the heat. “They can’t court-martial an Armstrong. They can’t go after an Armstrong. They’ll go after you. Roy.” Maes shook him a little, eyes desperate and hard behind his glasses. “They’ll kill you.”

It was the same fucking conversation, the same one they always had, that never ended, never changed, but now he’d watched his fellow State Alchemist murder his career into bits and pieces just like all the dead kids and now- _now-_ “So?” he gasped out; his voice broke. “ _So?_ H-how many people would s-survive- if I wasn’t- h- _here-“_

“You think you make that big a difference, you shit?” And his words were stern but his eyes were desperate still, the hand holding him down trembling as Maes forced Roy to meet his gaze, and god someone just as close to the edge as he was was not making a good anchor at the moment. “They execute you, and then what? Ishval won’t win this war. Amestris will still destroy them. I’ll just watch a lot more of my friends die in the process, because you weren’t there to stop it.”

He couldn’t stop gasping now, each word driven from his chest like he was being struck. “That’s f-fucking sick- fucking _disgusting-_ s-s-so I’m just supposed to c-commit _genocide-_ just so- so a couple more- of your murdering _friends_ can make it home-?”

Maes wrapped his arms around him, and he pulled him close, and Roy couldn’t stop shaking, and Maes whispered, “If you die here you can’t change this. It’s you, Roy. You’re the only one who can change this. It’s you or no one,” and Roy couldn’t stop shaking or gasping or crying and all he wanted to do was disappear into Maes’ arms and never exist again.

When Maes kissed him, it was probably an accident.

Just because Maes was the one holding him together tonight didn’t mean his friend wasn’t just as on edge and near the breaking point as he was, after all.

It was sweaty, and dusty, and clumsy, and quick, and when he pulled back, Roy was too stunned to even back away. “Wha...t...” he mumbled roughly, voice hoarse, and Maes just shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Because I think we both need something to hold onto out here,” was all he said, and then, as if he knew how weak an excuse that was, leaned forwards to do it again.

Roy pushed back, heart pounding. “Thought you were straight.”

Maes opened his eyes again; gave him a hard, unreadable look. “Thought you were gay.”

Something in his head snapped, and those four words were all it took, for him to shove back, yank away from Maes’ arms, and push him towards the outside. “ _I’m not a fucking queer!”_ Because he knew what happened to military men who were gay, and _Maes Hughes,_ damn him to hell, wasn’t about to put him back as that helpless, cowardly fuck again. “Fuck off, Hughes!”

Maes gave him a long look again, that dammable look that saw and understood too much. “Okay,” was all he said at last, but that one cold word was filled with a hell of a lot more understanding than he wanted to think about, and he watched, heart still pounding, as his best friend got to his feet and left him, still shaking, behind.

* * *

The next morning, he saw Maes at breakfast, and though he did not dare meet his eyes, he could still smell the liquor on his breath. The liquor from the no man’s land, where soldiers only went for the Ishvallan prostitutes.

Roy sighed.

That was dangerous, it was; going out there like that. There was some standard, unsaid rule between them; the men don’t kill the prostitutes, the prostitutes don’t kill the men- but, well, they were enemies, and there was always a first. Maes, of all people, should’ve been smart enough to know just what a foolish risk that was to take.

And for just a moment, all Roy could think was what his life out here would’ve become, if Maes had been found in the sand this morning, his throat slit and as dead as the men they sent Roy to kill.

That night, he ignored decorum, and hauled the idiot back to his tent after dinner. He kissed him the second the tent flap was closed.

Maes stared at him breathlessly. “Thought... you weren’t gay,” was all he finally managed, eyes wide, and Roy put every iota of his strength into faking a smile.

“Still figuring that one out,” he said, which was true; he didn’t like women, so, well, perhaps he did like men after all, and, “You’re not allowed to do something like last night again. That was stupid,” which was the only thing that mattered about this, and kissed him again.

If him doing this for Maes kept him from taking stupid risks out there, then he’d do it, and probably still enjoy it more than he’d ever enjoyed sex in his life.

Maes kissed him back at first, letting Roy violently pull him down to his cot, stripping off his jacket with the practiced skill of a son of a brothel. He’d just started to go after his shirt next when Maes stopped him, cheeks flushed now but eyes, serious. “Roy,” he said quietly, “last night... I understand.”

“Understand-“ gently tug the shirt apart, not violently enough to tear any buttons, not weakly enough for the motion to be anything but fluid; just how his sisters did it, “-what?”

Maes hesitated. “...I know what happened in the academy, Roy. With you and... Schmidt.”

“...No, you don’t.”

Maes frowned at him then, putting a hand to his wrist to stop his next move. “Look, it really wasn’t that hard to figure it out. I-“ He breathed out a frustrated sigh, grimacing anxiously. “What I’m saying is, you don’t have to do this. Not if you don’t want to.”

Oh, Roy didn’t particularly want to, but it wasn’t at all in the ways Maes was thinking of, so all he did was smirk, and cover his annoyingly quick mouth again with his own. “You talk too much,” was all he said, which was true, too, and proceeded to keep Maes from talking for the rest of the night.

* * *

And that was how the first relationship of his life started.

The thing about sex in Ishval was, no one cared. The rule was don’t ask, don’t tell. Some men fucked like rabbits, some of them became celibate- as long as you didn’t talk about whomever you were, or weren’t, fucking, everything was fine.

Roy knew he and Maes weren’t the only ones having sex out here, and Maes wasn’t the only straight man having sex with another guy- but as long as they didn’t talk about it, it wasn’t real. And as long as it wasn’t real, they could do whatever they had to do.

Roy learned that, first of all, no. He didn’t like men. Not any more than women, anyway.

He also learned that it was much, much better with someone who cared about him.

A longer term- not relationship, because that wasn’t what this was- _thing_ , he supposed, was intensely better than the casual flings he’d had whenever the occasion struck him. He learned how nice it could be to have someone to count on that much; that if he knew that he just couldn’t be alone that night, needed something there to talk to or just watch him or fuck until he passed out, he knew he could signal Maes, and Maes would be there. He learned there was a side to relationships beyond sex; even though he knew that this would end the moment they left the desert, because Maes was not gay, and Roy really wasn’t either, he still found himself growing to understand that sex didn’t have to be everything.

He also learned what Maes liked, and vice versa; evidently, just because sex wasn’t everything, or even of great interest to him, didn’t mean he couldn’t have preferences, after all. It didn’t mean he couldn’t find some things utterly unappealing and others pleasurable.

For example:

Roy discovered he liked cuddling.

He would never admit to it, of course. Never had more an embarrassing fact been spoken, and when Maes, because he was a childish ass with no sense of limits pointed it out, grinning all the while, Roy had booted him to the floor. He was Major Roy Mustang. Flame Alchemist. Murderer. Future Fuhrer of Amestris. Soldier.

No where in there was a man who liked to _cuddle._

But, because Maes was also quietly perceptive to the point it was disturbing, and far _nicer_ than any soldier had any right to be, he also started to linger just long enough for Roy to wake up with him there, arms around him, before he quietly had to slip back and go to his own tent.

The sex was- well, unavoidable, and not intolerable, and that was the best way for him to describe it. He knew Maes wanted it, and it wasn’t as if Roy found it repulsive... he considered the fact that Maes was keeping him sane more than enough to give him what he wanted. Equivalent exchange, after all.Besides, he found it somewhat enjoyable, too.

Except he still wasn’t normal.

He caught Maes looking at him admiringly more than once, staring almost openly whenever they were alone, and in a way that made his skin crawl. Once, in their rushed, five minute long, freezing water showers, Maes had startled him by coming to murmur just by his ear how much he loved the sight of him wet- so Roy had taken the opportunity, and turned to observe his best friend turned fuck buddy back in all his soaking wet glory.

It had been one of the duller moments of his life, and Roy had very quickly just faked his own appreciation at the sight so Maes wouldn’t get insulted.

Sure. It was mildly enjoyable. It wasn’t repulsive or horrible or nauseating. He could understand how to work some fun out of it- just not to the point he dreamed, lusted, or fantasized about it. Something Maes had confessed to do, on more than one occasion; blindfolding Roy with his own jacket and telling him in a low, husky voice by his ear _I can’t tell you how much I’ve fantasized about doing this to you._

Roy, swallowing uncomfortably, had forced his face into a confident grin, and murmured back, in the lie he was so accustomed to telling, _Me, too._

Pretend he was normal. Pretend he was like everyone else. Pretend there was nothing wrong with him.

For the first time in his life, Roy started to wish that he wasn’t- _whatever_ wasn’t right with him, because he knew once he left Ishval, he’d probably never have something like this again.

And he was starting to enjoy it.

* * *

The civil war ended.

The soldiers went home.

They had their promotions. Their commendations. Their nightmares. Their mental breakdowns.

He spent two weeks on Maes’ couch, after Maes found him even more on the edge of the cliff he’d been tottering on for months and his hand on his gun. They didn’t mention or attempt to pick up any of the affair in Ishval, because what happened in Ishval, stayed in Ishval, and here in the real world, Maes was straight, and Roy was- whatever the fuck he was. They were just best friends again, and Roy soon decided that he would take his best friend Maes, rather than nothing at all.

He didn’t go back home, to Christmas and his sisters.

He didn’t think he could bear them facing what he had become.

* * *

Back in Central now, a decorated lieutenant colonel, Roy set his sights on the Fuhrer and forgot everything else. It wasn’t hard. Riza was there with him, and she kept him on focus whenever he dared slip. He gathered a unit, a team of trusted confidants, of good soldiers and even better men who would watch and guide and support his way to the top. He did his paperwork and practiced his alchemy and carried out his missions like a good soldier. He did everything that he was supposed to and beyond expectation.

One of his expectations, of course, was to date. It was what military men did. They got married to a submissive housewife, had her pop out two kids and clean and cook while he went around and saved the world. Roy found this expectation was less irritating to meet than it might have been before. This wasn’t the academy, where torrid sex with prostitutes was the norm; no, it was _relationships_ that were expected. Relationships were easy to fake. He wined and dined his sisters quite often, the lovely women amazing spies in his growing information network, and it was simply too perfect to both grow his own womanizing reputation, listen in on whatever new information his spies had picked up, _and_ catch up with family, all at once. The quick kisses they had to exchange at the end of the night were uncomfortable- but, both parties had more than enough experience kissing someone that did absolutely nothing for them.

And even when he had no sister to take out for a week, despite his _horrid_ lack of interest in it all, he still had enough of a silver tongue to convince any girl in the building to give him a chance. So, he took to dipping his toe into the pool of secretaries and ask out the cutest one, whenever he started to hear whispers of rumors that he needed to put a stop to.

It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad, either. It was the first time he’d ever gone on actual dates, and while some appeal was there, when first dates all seemed to be intertwined with handholding and hugging and eventual kissing, he found it more enjoyable to just spend the night by himself. Dinner with airheads, mostly, and he took many of them to bed in the end; the womanizing reputation seemed to be a requirement among the generals, and he’d prefer that to the freak celibate one he would’ve built up otherwise.

He’d had worse.

He’d also had better, with Maes- but, he reminded himself, that was neither here nor there.

* * *

The seven cadets from the academy, all privates now, he quietly arranged to have transferred under his command.

Just to be safe.

Just to keep an eye out.

* * *

Roy settled.

He found his status quo. Bearable, tolerable, acceptable. He lived. He schemed, plotted, manipulated. Maes got married; he served as best man, smiled appropriately as he watched the darling bride walk down the aisle, tolerated Maes’ each and every last picture of her. He did the whole _good soldier_ thing. Over and over again, promotions for colonel came up, and- he was passed by- overhearing murmurs of _too young, too young_ and _maybe next time, soldier,_ and Roy gritted his teeth and waited.

He wouldn’t be too young forever.

After the first year, he found it too tiresome to watch those seven young privates so maliciously, to stomp on their every move, to send them on the worst missions he could find, to derail their careers with every chance he got. He wasn’t the shocked, helpless, hurt kid he’d been in the academy anymore; he didn’t _want_ revenge, and moreover, he knew those cadets had been following orders that night. Perhaps none of them had held rank, but he knew they’d been following orders, all the same... and he’d lost any right, to judge or go after anyone for actions they took due to following orders.

Private Schmidt, however, he kept his eye on.

The other six had followed orders; Schmidt had _given_ those orders. And so, while he took to diverting the other six’s folders to Riza’s desk, simply wanting to never deal with or think of those men again- he always personally took Schmidt’s for his own.

And if he somehow always ended up buried in the archives, stuck out directing traffic, or sludging through the southern mud swamps, and every single time _recommended for promotion_ came across his desk he turned it down, Roy pretended it was nothing more than a lackluster soldier burning out his career... and Schmidt knew too well too complain to him otherwise.

It was four years after Ishval, another two weeks before he would be up for colonel _yet again_ , when one of the seven, a young lieutenant now, stood nervously in his office, reporting on his last mission. Roy watched him, impassive, betraying nothing, and couldn’t deny the part of him that liked watching the man squirm with every salute. He didn’t show it, though- he had no right to his revenge, not against a man _just following orders-_ and instead remained silent, carefully ensuring the meeting remained only professional.

The lieutenant, however, ruined it all, when his report was finally finished... yet he made no move to leave.

“I said dismissed, Lieutenant Hall,” he ordered stiffly, lowering his eyes to glare firmly at his desk.

The man squirmed again. Squirmed. Disgraceful, for a soldier.

“...Lieutenant Colonel, sir?”

Roy waited.

He squirmed.

Hall, if he remembered correctly, had always been a squirmer... even back then. Probably would have been the outcast of their group, had Roy not been there to take that so-enviable role.

“...Speak.”

Hall shifted, eyes darting anywhere but him for one long moment- but then, with an air of finality, took in a deep breath and looked him squarely in the eye. He still looked indescribably nervous, sweat glistening on his temple and hands fidgeting by his sides, but holding Roy’s gaze all the same. He gulped. “I’d like to... apologize, sir. For... anything...” He coughed uneasily, voice shuddering. “For... anything I might have done towards you, that was... not... acceptable.”

He coughed again, fingers twitching by his sides.

Roy’s eyes narrowed.

“Not acceptable,” he repeated faintly, staring.

Hall gulped again. “Y-yes, sir.”

He stared at him until he squirmed again.

Then, closing his eyes, Roy let his hands fall limply down on his desk, and murmured, voice cold, “You are dismissed, Lieutenant.”

He left his eyes closed until longer after his door had shut, and the footsteps had faded away.

The next morning, Roy had Hawkeye file the paperwork to transfer Lieutenant Hall out to western command. Effectively a demotion, in many ways...

But it was also an opportunity for the officer to rise under a superior who didn’t, even now, still every so often sit bolt upright in a cold sweat, mind blurred with the dream of incinerating him.

It was a fair chance and a fresh start, and that was the least, and most, of what he could offer.

Private Schmidt, however, would stay in Central, under his eye, a private for the rest of whatever remained of his career.

* * *

His subordinates had a thing, about his birthday.

Specifically, a thing that required them to _always_ celebrate it, _always_ make it ridiculous, and _always_ drink.

It wasn’t hard to figure out. They insisted a celebration because it was fun, they insisted on making it ridiculous because, some days, Roy thought they _lived_ to embarrass him, and they insisted on drinking because that simply heightened the fun. He’d learned a long time ago not to protest, and simply allow his men to have their party at his expense- and, sure, sometimes enjoy it a little himself, too.

It was on one of these occasions that he saw the sight of a lifetime:

Riza Hawkeye. Drunk.

Well- not _drunk,_ drunk. Affected, certainly. Tipsy? Perhaps. She was not fall down, make a fool out of herself drunk; her cheeks were just a little pink, her eyes were just a little wide, her smiles were beautifully easy to win, and as much as Roy loved his adjutant, he realized he loved her when she was like this even more.

He walked her home, because he was nothing if not a gentleman, even teasing her a little along the way that she was meant to watch his back but here she was, clinging to his arm instead. He suspected such a comment would’ve normally earned him a glare as scathing as a headslap, but in her current state, his trusty lieutenant merely pressed a hand to her mouth, pushing back a smile, and flushed again.

“There’s no need to keep apologizing,” he told her warmly, gripping her arm a little more securely as he led her up the stairs to her apartment. “We’re both off duty at the moment. I think it’s quite fair that you allow yourself the same moment of weakness the entirety of our team indulged in tonight.”

“But...” She shook her head slowly, clearly struggling to find both the words and her dignity. “I’m your bodyguard. I c-can’t- perform my duties, like this. It’s... inappropria-“

“Shhh- _shh.”_ A little bit tipsy himself, he slipped his other hand around to clap it to her mouth. “The only thing inappropriate is how you look in that dress tonight, Lieutenant.”

It was one hundred percent Colonel Mustang the Womanizer, one hundred percent the suave, debonair casanova that was his image, and he found himself flinching automatically, prepared for the sharp slap that comment would give him. He earned it, right on his arm, and laughed aloud as he took her keys from her hand to begin to unlock her door, determined to at least see her inside.

He got the door open in short order and re-wrapped his arm around her shoulders after that, firm and close. “All right, to bed with you,” he commanded. “And remember that tomorrow’s Saturday. Actually sleep in for once, or you’ll regret it.” He knew he couldn’t stay long; relationship or not, the allegations that would arise from him taking home his younger, inebriated subordinate and disappearing into her apartment were not good- but just a few minutes, to make sure she was all right. Gently, he led her forward to her couch, then shifted, trying to sit her down on the cushions.

She didn’t let him go.

“Riza?” he asked uncertainly, trying to pull her hand off his arm. She was looking at him, eyes just wide enough to tip him off she still wasn’t quite in her right mind. “Ah, Riza, I’m so touched~ I know, I know I’m your rock, but-“

She kissed him.

His smile fell.

He felt her mouth against his, every acute second of it. He felt her hands climb over him, one interlacing with his while the other rose to cup the back of his neck. He felt her tongue push against his. He felt her push, push his head forwards, push him into the kiss. He felt it last, each long, close, slimy, unwanted second of it.

Then she fell back, her hands falling slack just as sleepy bliss transformed into horror. She covered her mouth with her hands to stumble backwards, the faint pink flush of alcohol draining away as she went bone white. Slowly, limply, she dropped to collapse onto her couch, face still hidden in her hands and body slumped to curl over onto herself. “Oh,” she whispered, muffled. “Oh, Colonel. I’m... I am so sorry.”

Slowly, Roy raised a hand, wiping his mouth off on his sleeve. He looked down at his adjutant, whose gaze was still completely hidden by her hands, then swallowed uncomfortably. He could taste chapstick. Strawberry, like little Anna West’s.

“I’m so sorry,” Riza said again, voice low. “I’m... you know I don’t drink, sir. I’m not used to- and you were standing right there, and I- sir, I’m so sorry. I know it’s not professional, and against regulation, and, and I...” She trailed off into shaking her head, still hiding her whole face from him as she sat curled up on her couch. “...I’m sorry, Colonel...”

After several moments, Roy just shook his head. His mind was still reeling, but it did not seem this was The Kiss of radio dramas, in which his sexually repressed and flustered subordinate realized her feelings of undying love for him in a moment of heated passion. _That_ would have had him dearly wishing for unconsciousness- but this, at least, seemed far less troublesome. Just a simple...

Simple expression of physical urges.

He paused.

“..Don’t mind it, Lieutenant,” he murmured at last, sinking down to sit next to her. He interlaced his fingers and watched them hang between his knees, wondering at his next words very carefully. “I understand.” He didn’t, but... the rest of the world, it seemed, did. “I... if I may, Lieutenant?”

“...Sir?” she asked quietly. Her voice was still muffled by her hands.

Roy hesitated again. “This might be... rather a personal question.” He waited, but when she did not protest, made himself go on, gaze still down on the floor rather than on her. “Take out the military for a moment. In fact, take out me at all. Imagine you’re just- you, no other commitments, no other responsibilities. Just you, and you run into... into Mr. Conventionally Attractive, Good Personality, Eligible Bachelor. ...Would you have wanted to do- that- with him?”

Several moments passed in uncertain silence. Slowly, he heard Riza raise her head to look at him. In an effort to appear blasé about it all, like it was normal and simply unimportant, he raised his gaze as well to meet hers.

She stared blearily at him with nothing but confusion. She blinked uncertainly, still looking at him, some of her embarrassment faded away if only because she now looked just completely lost. “...I’m afraid I don’t understand the question, sir?”

He swallowed tightly. “Would you have still actually wanted to kiss him?” He waved a hand, forcing an easygoing smile. “I’m aware I’m not phrasing it the most erotically, but- play along, Lieutenant, please.”

Riza stared.

And the longer she stared, the more his heart started to sink.

“...Colonel,” she said at last, “I’m sorry, it may be the alcohol, but... I really don’t understand what you’re trying to ask me.”

This time, it was Roy’s turn to stare.

Translation: _you’re so strange, so unnatural, so not normal, that I can’t even understand where you’re coming from._

His heart sank again.

“...Never mind, Lieutenant,” he said quietly, and looked away.

* * *

The next time Hughes told him to get a wife, Roy hung up on him, and then spent the next week dodging his calls.

It was two months before he could force himself to ask out another secretary, and even longer before he could drag together another pretend charm and desire to kiss them again.

* * *

It was at thirty years old when Roy finally determined just what it was that was off about him.

His office door was not anywhere near as thick as his staff would believe (except Riza, who simply knew all). They loved to gossip, and while Roy could still hardly believe they weren’t aware they were being overheard, he often took some form of pleasure in eavesdropping in. As a superior officer, he never heard most of this stuff anymore; people tended to quiet up whenever they saw him near and discuss only strictly work-related matters- which was a shame, because the gossip, every so often, contained key bits of information he could use against higher ranking men, and...

Well, mostly, it was just amusing.

“I can’t believe it,” Havoc moaned, on one such occasion during which Roy was completely slacking off the huge waiting stack on his desk. “I finally got up the nerve to ask out Jenna- _Jenna!-_ and guess what? Guess what happened?”

“I think we can all guess, Havoc,” Breda snickered.

Roy snickered as well, well aware of what was coming.

“She’s already _taken!_ By- _guess who!”_

“Colonel Casanova."

_“Colonel Casanova! AGH!”_

Roy grinned.

What? If he had to date the secretaries at all, then might as well make it a game to see how accurately he could predict the next one to steal Havoc’s eye, and how quickly he could claim it for himself.

“It’s- it’s like he’s got a sixth sense or something! Every single time I want someone, he beats me to her! It’s unbelievable! And why does _no one ever turn him down?!”_

“Lieutenant Hawkeye turned him down,” Breda chuckled- surely, only because Riza had left some minutes ago to deliver paperwork. “Rumor is he tried his usual quick tongue on her and she shot him down. _Literally.”_

Roy smirked. He wasn’t quite sure where the rumors about him and Riza had cropped up from, but, well, if they got people thinking he had some sort of secret love affair going on, all the better for him. He adored Riza- and, as such, wasn’t about to embroil her in whatever a relationship with him would even look like. Riza, on the other hand, was so intimidating the men around here never once dared harass her... despite the fact half the base was convinced Roy and his staff were her personal harem.

Outside his door, Havoc moaned, evidently not pleased by the fact that the bane of his romantic exploits had supposedly been shot down a total of once in his life. “I _hate_ him,” he groaned, “he’s such a damn _buzzkill..._ all I want is a single girlfriend, is that too much to ask, _but no...”_

Fuery, every optimistic Fuery, piped up. “You know, why don’t you just wait until he dumps her? He’s going to. I’ve never seen him go on more than two dates with someone.”

“Wha-huh?”

Falman was next, and Roy rolled his eyes; come on, not even _Falman_ was aware he could hear them? Falman probably knew the thickness and consistency of his office door. “Fuery’s right. I’ve thought for a while the only reason he was going on those dates at all was to keep up appearances.”

“What, Mustang the womanizer? Come on.”

He could almost hear Falman shrug. “Who knows. Maybe he’s gay? He really doesn’t seem to like women all that much-“

_“SHHH-SHUSH! It’s Hawkeye, Hawkeye’s coming!”_

Immediately, the voices stopped, and outside his office door, all there was to be heard was the scratching of pens and rustling of paper.

Roy, however, frowned.

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard such a comment- but it was the first time he’d heard it in a way that wasn’t meant to be insulting. He leaned back in his command chair, interlacing his fingers over his chest, and thought.

He didn’t like women. Indisputable fact. He had never once fantasized, wet dreamed, or masturbated to the thought of a beautiful woman.

Well, the next logical step was to assume that he liked men- except...

He didn’t like men, either.

...

Perhaps he just didn’t like either.

“Hmm,” Roy murmured aloud.

Perhaps that was it.

* * *

“And _all I’m saying,_ Roy, is for you to get yourself a wife!”

Oh, yes. Did Roy forget to mention he was best friends with a lunatic?

Because, he was.

“Hughes...”

“I think you fail to understand the magnitude of how this will improve your life, Roy. First.” Maes held up a finger, and by the look on his face he just wanted to crawl under his desk and hide until it was over. “She’ll cook for you, and force you to eat. You need fattening up. You’re a stick. You never eat. And-“

“Ah, yes, I need a wife to make me a sandwich. How delightfully enlightened of you, Maes.”

“-and _two,”_ Maes went on, holding up another finger, and his eyes radiating danger and threats of _shut up Roy I’m not done yet._ “She’ll keep you company! I _know_ you’re lonely whenever I’m not around to make you socialize, but a wife would completely rectify that problem! She’s always there for you!”

“Have you ever once realized that maybe the reason you have to force me to socialize is because I _like_ being a recluse? Maybe I’m not cripplingly lonely; maybe I just _like_ a nice, quiet night to myself-“

 _“-and three,”_ and his eyes _still_ had that look of _did I say I was done yet?_ “You could finally~ settle down and have a child! Speaking of which...”

Dear, god, no.

Rummage, rummage-

Fidget-

Manic grin-

“-have you seen these newest pictures of my darling daughter Elicia yet?!”

Hell.

Roy glanced over the grinning lunatic sitting before his desk, wad of brand new photographs of Elicia in hand, and beaming like a dammed _lightbulb,_ for god’s sake, and hesitated.

He cleared his throat once, bit his lip, cleared his throat again, then coughed, told the nervous uncertainty collecting in his chest to go to hell, and said, “Actually, think that’s not going to happen.”

Maes barely even stopped, already preparing to launch into explanations for the first picture. “What, the story about Elicia’s new tricycle? No, it’s not, buddy, I’m already telling it. See-“

“The wife thing, I mean.”

Finally, Hughes stopped. He raised an eyebrow, lowering his first picture back to its place in the _to torment Roy with_ stack. The investigator blinked, clearly thrown by the unexpected response, then finally just asked bluntly, “Why?”

“Yeah. About that. See.” He paused again, then licked his lips.

“I’m asexual.”

There was a long beat of silence.

“...I... think.”

Hughes stared at him.

Roy shifted, abruptly uneasy but trying very hard to not let it show on his face. He shrugged with the most casual air that he could, but as casual as he tried to be, he could already feel the nervous anxiety in his chest building up to spill out in his senseless words. “I mean. I think that I am. It’s... rather difficult to be completely sure. It’s hard to say, one way or another, when the only defining characteristic is a _lack_ of something- and if you’ve never felt it, how are you supposed to know what it feels like, to know if you’ve not felt it, and-?” He laughed nervously, and inwardly _cursed_ his tendency to babble whenever Hughes turned that blank stare on him. “Like I said. I think. And, I, don’t ask for an explanation, since- I, um, get it, evolutionarily, scientifically, it makes _no_ sense, but, it’s just, I’ve never-“

“Okay.”

It was Roy’s turn to blink. “...What?”

Maes shrugged. “Okay. I mean, I kinda already guessed that you were, but, okay.”

...Well, then.

It wasn’t until the tension and anxiety coiling inside him finally loosened, that he realized he had been nervous to hear his answer.

Then, after several startled seconds, Roy looked back at Maes again, his eyes widening. “And you never said anything _because?”_

Maes simply laughed, as if Roy’s three decade long introspection and reality check was just amusing to him, and sat back in his own chair. “You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t- _no,_ I didn’t _know!”_ He barely stopped himself from sitting back with a resigned, petulant huff and folding his arms like a small, stubborn child. “How the hell did _you_ know? You- you thought I was _gay.”_

Once again, Maes laughed. “Yes, well, back then, evidence pointed to it. It stopped pointing to it a long time ago. You’re a pretty good actor, Roy, but don’t insult me by thinking you could’ve ever fooled me- at least give me a little credit. I watch you dance with Riza every year at the Christmas party, and you look more into the spiked coffee than her every time."

...Well.

There wasn’t any more succinct a way he could be made to feel like an idiot than by realizing his massive epiphany was something Hughes had just off and quietly deduced himself a long time ago.

Maes, however, was not reeling from any realizations or epiphanies of his own, and, after a moment or two of quietly shocked silence, he leveled a mock glare on Roy, folding his arms as if he was in for a lecture. “This has nothing to do with getting yourself a wife, though.”

“...Ah, I think you’re rather missing the point on-“

“I said get yourself a _wife,_ not a fuckbuddy. Jeez, Roy.” Maes ran a hand through his hair, rolling his eyes fondly. “Just how much sex do you think married couples have?”

“I’d... really like to not hear a detailed explanation of your sex life, if that’s where this is going.”

“Roy.” Maes gave him The Look again, the look that said _listen to me, I know better than you on this, so you’re going to listen to me and that’s that._ “It’s called a _relation_ ship. Not a _sex_ ship. So it may work a little differently for you than most other people. So what? You never do anything normally anyway.”

Roy coughed quietly, unable to hold silent at that one no matter how much Maes evidently wanted him to. “Normal? _You’re_ giving _me_ a lecture on what’s normal?”

“Yes, and here’s what you’re going to do: ask out someone _besides_ whomever the newest secretary of the week is, actually _invest_ something of yourself in a relationship for once, and then give it the good old, honest try before you decide you’re doomed to be alone forever.” Maes went silent then, watching him closely with hard, narrowed eyes, stubborn in the way that Roy had just gotten used to over the years, for whenever his best friend thought he was being an idiot and was determined to talk him out of it. “If you actually think that’s something you might want- suspend for a moment the future visions I know you’re conjuring up of a forever bachelor- if that’s something you think you want, then I see no reason why you don’t get to have it, same as the rest of us.”

The investigator watched him again for several moments, letting the words sink in. “It probably won’t be easy,” he said at length, voice softening, “but, be honest, Roy- do you really think it’s easy for anyone?”

Maes, Roy reflected idly, still a little stunned by how quickly this conversation had taken a 180 and his friend had hijacked it to prove his point, had a very strange way of making his point in such a manner it became dammed hard to argue.

It was also the furthest place he had imagined this conversation from ending, and, once again, he found himself marveling at Maes’ ability to turn something he’d been nervous and almost agonizing about for weeks around on its head and make him feel stupid for ever even worrying in the first place.

Roy swallowed tightly, affection gathering in his chest, and nodded. “...Okay,” he returned quietly, a one-word agreement, in which he meant so much more than what he’d said.

Maes smiled softly back. “Okay.”

And just like that, the tension dissolved.

Then, with a deadly gleam in his eyes, Maes leaned forward again, piercing him through with that unyielding stare of his, and grinned. “Until then, however: it’s my responsibility to keep you from wasting away in that lonely bachelor pad you call an apartment- so. You’re coming to my house to dinner tonight, Uncle Roy.”

“Maes-“

“No arguments~” And somehow Maes was already tugging him to his feet, and all of Roy’s mock struggling went utterly ignored. “You’re coming over. And Gracia is feeding you, because you are a stick. And you’re going to be a good boy, and stay for dinner, because that’s what family does, you hear me?”

“...Yes, Maes,” he laughed weakly, and found he didn’t have it in him to resist as the man propelled him out into the hallway.


End file.
